"It is about sixty years since my grandfather was employed as accountant by a Spanish merchant. Although still young, he was married, and had a son. One night the warehouse took fire, and was burned with the surrounding property. The loss was great, incendiarism was suspected, and my grandfather was accused. He had no money to pay for his defence, and he was convicted and condemned to be publicly flogged in the streets of his pueblo. Attached to a horse, he was beaten as he passed each street corner by men, his brothers. The curates, you know, advocate nothing but blows for the discipline of the Indian. When the unhappy man, marked forever with infamy, was liberated, his poor young wife went about seeking work to keep alive her disabled husband and their little child. Failing in this, she was forced to see them suffer, or to live herself a life of shame." Ibarra rose to his feet. "Oh, don't be disturbed! There was no longer honor or dishonor for her or hers. When the husband's wounds were healed, they went to hide themselves in the mountains, where they lived for a time, shunned and feared. But my grandfather, less courageous than his wife, could not endure this existence and hung himself. When his body was found, by chance, my grandmother was accused for not reporting his death, and was in turn condemned to be flogged; but in consideration of her state her punishment was deferred. She gave birth to another son, unhappily sound and strong; two months later her sentence was carried out. Then she took her two children and fled into a neighboring province. "The elder of the sons remembered that he had once been happy. As soon as he was old enough he became a tulisan to avenge his wrongs, and the name of Balat spread terror in many provinces. The younger son, endowed by nature with a gentle disposition, stayed with his mother, both living on the fruits of the forest and dressing in the cast-off rags of those charitable enough to give. At length the famous Balat fell into the hands of justice, and paid a dreadful penalty for his crimes, to that society which had never done anything to teach him better than to commit them. One morning the young brother, who had been in the forest gathering fruits, came back to find the dead body of his mother in front of their cabin, the horror-stricken eyes staring upward; and following them with his own, the unhappy boy saw suspended from a limb the bloody head of his brother." "My God!" cried Ibarra.